


The Class of Supernatural Misfits... Plus Stiles

by Rose1989



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Class of Supernatural Misfits, F/F, Fluff, Library, M/M, Multi, Spin Off, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:18:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose1989/pseuds/Rose1989
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek Hale's class of Supernatural Misfits... Plus Stiles" spin off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Class of Supernatural Misfits... Plus Stiles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WalkingDredd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingDredd/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Derek Hale's class of Supernatural Misfits ... Plus Stiles.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561408) by [WalkingDredd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingDredd/pseuds/WalkingDredd). 



> This is going to be a collection of spin off one shots, written with and for WalkingDredd's story. :D

Jackson is alone in the library working on an essay. He valiantly ignores Stiles’ ‘Libraries are the devil’ saying in favour of just plain going against everything the guy says. Nothing is wrong with the place, Stiles can’t be _always_ right. He shakes his head. He also has no problem ignoring the incredulous stares from the surrounding students, nudging each other, whispering and pointing - really, have they never seen an attractive guy in the library before? He snorts to himself. Probably not. To verify this, he winks at a particularly pretty brunette sitting at one of the lone computers across from him and receives a glare in return. He chuckles out loud and mumbles “lesbian” under his breath, she has to be. Girls should totally be melting around his perfection. 

 

Sighing, he shuffles down in his seat and tries to focus. “ _Explain the commercial, political, and religious structures and goals that underwrote European colonial ventures in the New World”._ He wonders about the current state of his school education when none of these questions even make sense to him anymore. Should he just give up now?

 

No, he thinks, Derek will just give him yet another detention and he’s just about had enough of seeing Matt’s creepy-ass face in that same creepy-ass corner in those same creepy-ass clothes. He’s sees it all enough in class, he doesn’t need to torture himself with more.

 

With a new drive to succeed, he picks up the strangely femininely pink pen Derek had given him and very slowly writes the title at the top of the paper. He manages to get as far as underlying said title with his phone case when the pen suddenly drops to the table. Confused but not disheartened, Jackson attempts to pick the pen back up. Only he can’t. He’s staring down at his one hand in absolute horror and wondering, for the first time in his young adult life, just when his fingers decided to turn themselves into one giant fucking hoof.

 

 

“Noooooo!”

 

 

He ignores the angry titters and shushing in favour of tapping the hoof against the table, gasping in panicked surprise when he couldn’t feel a damn thing. This doesn’t make any sense. He feels like the _tap-tap-tap_ echo of the hollow table is taunting him somehow, laughing at him for not being perfect after all. 

 

No, this just wouldn’t do. He needs to pull himself together. Flaws made perfection, after all… Well, at least, that’s the crap he overheard Allison telling Kira the other day. Sighing, Jackson takes a deep breath and picks up the pen with his left hand. He test-writes his own name and promptly smirks when, _of course_ , he’s ambidextrous. His physical pat to the back may have been a little too much, though, when the brunette before rolls her eyes at him and packs up to leave. 

 

Lesbians really are angry people.

 

He finishes the rulered line for his title and starts a reluctant ’the’ for the start of the actual essay when - he doesn’t _believe_ it - the pen drops again. He blinks down at his second hoof, now left in it’s directional property - whatever the hell that means. He puts the two hooves together, clunks them,  just because he can, and then rests them against in the table. 

 

He feels helpless in that moment and there’s nothing more frustrating for him than a helpless Jackson.

 

_tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_

 

 

“NOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

He can feel himself trembling violently, still tapping away against the table, and the slow crawling flush of the all too familiar anger creeping up to cover his entire face, helpless - _dammit -_ to stop it once it starts. He can hear the hushed murmurs of the others, hear it all suddenly cease to shocked silence, and then to frightened strangled screams, confirming that, yep, they’ve seen his hooves and his temper and, yep, they’ve now seen the horn, once again, erupt from his forehead with that same sad ‘ _poof’_ sound. He also feels the last of his already fragile popularity fall to tatters around him.

 

Slumping in defeat, he packs his stuff up, as best he can with two hooves for hands, and shuffles slowly out of the library doors, vowing never to step foot in there ever again.

 

 

He will never ever tell Stiles just how right he always is.


End file.
